


Nothing Left To Lose

by CantSpeakFae



Series: Once More With Glitter [11]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst angst city bitch, Angst city bitch, Giles is a little worked up, M/M, Randall is so resigned to a bad fate, These little conversations only get harder, They're just trying to figure it all out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 18:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15977867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantSpeakFae/pseuds/CantSpeakFae
Summary: These little conversations that Rupert and Randall seemed doomed to have, never get any easier.





	Nothing Left To Lose

As tired as Giles is, it's nearly impossible to sleep, knowing Randall is sleeping on his couch, on the other side of the wall. 

Living, breathing, Randall Evans.  
  
He tosses and turns until his pajamas are uncomfortably twisted about his body, straightens himself out, then tosses and turns until he's as twisted up outside as his heart and mind are inside.   
  
“Randall bloody Evans. Alive. On my couch.”

Downstairs, Randall doesn't sleep well.   
  
He's not sure he sleeps at all, actually. It's more like he spaces off, staring up into the darkness above him, at the ceiling, going through every second of his life so far and wondering how the hell he ever ended up here. Thinking about the past is really all he can do. If he tries to think about tomorrow and what he's going to do, he starts to panic. He doesn't know what he's going to do - or where he's going to _go_ . He's a weapon without a handler. No direction. No real sense of purpose.   
  
Of course, that's not the only issue. There's also the fact that he's lying on his ex-boyfriend's couch. How is he supposed to deal with that? Living with a front row seat to the life that moved on without him? Constantly reminded that he doesn't have a place in the world. That his story ended a long time ago.   
  
He's never been so confused, or lonely, in his entire life. And the sun is up before he knows it.   
  
Looks like he's out of time to contemplate.

About half an hour before his alarm is set to go off, Giles finally gives up on getting any quality sleep. 

The few times he did manage to doze off, he woke up in a cold sweat, memories of the last Eyghon summoning swimming in his head.  
  
He lifts himself from his rumpled bed, and takes a long shower before getting dressed for work, then tip-toes down the stairs to gather his things, hoping he won't wake Randall… who’s already sitting upright on the couch, having given up on any chance of catching any sleep. He's got a book open on his lap, borrowed from "Rupert's" study. Some sort of demonology text. He's not really focused on it, just needed something to do that wasn't just sitting on the couch like a statue. 

He looks up as Rupert appears at the foot of the stairs.  
  
“Oh. Hey.”

Giles jumps, and, for the record, does not yelp like a startled school girl. “I, oh, ah...good morning...Randall. I hope I didn't wake you?”

“Nah. I never went to sleep. It's... weird, not being in my cage. At least that darkness was familiar.”

Randall lifts up the book he borrowed from Rupert's study, a sheepish expression on his face.  
  
“I hope you don't mind me borrowing this... I had too many thoughts and I didn't like any of them, so I needed a distraction.”

“Oh no, of course not. Please, help yourself to anything.” Giles heads to the kitchenette to put the electric kettle on. It's too bloody early to leave for school just yet. “And that offer is not just for books. It extends to everything. How would you like your tea?”

“You still hate coffee, huh?”

Randall asks, with a faux sigh of the very much put upon. He never did get the fascination with tea - Da might've been Irish, but he spent most of his time with Mum and Italians only ever drank tea when they were sick. At home.

“Just make it however you do. I always liked that.”

“I don't _hate_ coffee. It...makes me tense, is all.”

Giles makes a lot of very strong tea, adds milk to two mugs, then pours the tea. He brings both mugs out to the living room, and hands one to Randall as he sits in the chair across from the couch.

“I'm sorry you didn't sleep last night. You're welcome to use my room, today. It's somewhat darker. And, er, a bed rather than a sofa.” Giles  smiles apologetically and sips his tea. “Do, ah, you have plans for today? I'm finished at school by three. I usually stay later, to train Buffy, but I'm sure she can manage the heartbreak of my cancelling on her again.”

His smile is drier, now, as he can practically hear the squealed "thanks, Giles!" as she races from the Library.  
  
“I can be back here by half-past.”

Randall grins at Rupert's mention of coffee making him 'tense'. He remembers that... one night that "Ripper" committed himself to helping Randall study for his exam. One cup of coffee and he was so on edge that he nearly got in a fistfight with the upstairs neighbor for stomping around too loudly above them. It'd been funny, at the time.

But his amusement fades when Rupert asks him about his plans for the day, and he exhales sharply through his nose. Laughter without any real humour.  
  
“Plans? Ah... no. See, I was sort of expecting to be locked in another basement, somewhere, following your father's orders like a good little weapon. Outside of that... I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing. But, ah, leave me alone for half an hour and he may feel brave enough to approach me. I can find out from there.”

“Beg your pardon?”

Giles nearly spits out his mouthful of tea, and has to set his mug down - sans coaster! - to prevent his spilling it.  
  
“You... _want_ my father to _find_ you?  HERE? In my HOME?” 

The volume of his voice doesn't rise, as it's still early, but the intensity increases with each emphasized word until his vocal cords ache from the strain.  
  
“Are you insane? The man kept you locked up for TWENTY YEARS. I've read about Stockholm Syndrome, but, Randall, this rather takes the cake.”

Randall flinches. 

It's a force of habit, deeply ingrained into him and as natural as the beat of his heart, to recoil from the cold intensity of anger and for a second - just a second - he's _afraid_ of the man sitting across from him. That's the same kind of angry that Ronald gets. Never shouting. Just intense and unpredictable and always swinging back with some new method of teaching whatever lesson that he thinks Randall hasn't learned, yet.   
  
But, somehow, Randall still manages to keep his own voice mild and unaffected as he speaks.   
  
“It was fifteen years, and that wasn't _hope_ . It was bitter resignation. There's a chance I need to relearn inflection…”   
  
He muses, to distract from how his hands shake when he sets aside his own tea. On a coaster, because he's a monster - not an animal.   
  
“I know your father. Better than I know myself, anymore. There's no chance he's gone back to London; there's too much riding on my "success", whatever the hell that'll mean. Either he's waiting to ambush me, or he's sent someone else to handle me, in lieu of you stabbing him again. Which, again, good on you for that.”

Giles takes a deep breath when he sees Randall's hands shaking, and he curses himself for getting angry at a person with PTSD, practically minutes after being freed from torture.

“It certainly felt good, thank you. Randall, I'm behaving like an utter pillock. I have no excuse to take out my issues with my father on you, and I apologize for that.” He picks up his mug, sips, then frowns as the tea has gone awfully tepid. “I am, however...deeply concerned about you meeting with him...alone. What if he tries to take you back?”

“...What, you don't think I thought about that? Rip - ah, Rupert, I don't think there's ever going to be a day from here on out where I don't wake up expecting to find nothing but darkness or constantly look over my shoulder, expecting to see him or someone like him prepared to take me back.”

His voice is quiet. Fear thinly veiled.

“But, what am I supposed to do? I don't... I don't have anything but this, anymore. No family. No friends. Fifteen years is a long time and this world kept spinning without me. I've always been someone with ambition. I always had a _plan_ . I can't cope with the idea of a future spent hiding from this. That's worse than being dead.”   
  
And he should known.   
  
“If...being this weapon is all I can be from here on out, then I will be this weapon. If nothing else, I can find out what exactly they expect me to accomplish and maybe what their plans are for you and your Slayer. That's the kinda intel you only get by working with them. You said finding out what end game your father has in mind is priority, right? Well, this is how we do it. ...This is how I do it. I don't have anything left to lose, worst case scenario. And best case, I can keep you and your Slayer out of whatever trouble they try to cause.”

“In either case...you do have me. It's not much, I'm afraid, in comparison to what you've lost...but I hope it's not nothing.”

Giles takes a breath and sighs in resignation.

“You're absolutely right, of course, as I remember you often were. You're not a prisoner, anymore, either.”

Giles glances at the clock, and shocked that time has passed so quickly, rises to bring his mug to the kitchenette.

“I do have to go...but here -”  
  
He digs around in the junk drawer.   
  
“- here's the key to my flat. You're free to come and go as you please…”

Giles pulls out his wallet and removes a few bills, which he sets beside the key.

“And some American money. There's a very decent coffee shop just a few blocks from here. And a grocery store just beyond that, if you can't find anything appetizing in my pantry.”

Lastly, Giles writes down a series of numbers on a notepad.

“And here is the number to the school, my extension, and Buffy's pager number, if you can't reach me, and a code to enter which basically means "get Giles." ...Unless you'd rather I call out, entirely?”

Randall hasn't moved since Rupert got up to do his impression of an inverted tornado - leaving order instead of chaos - and he's still staring at Rupert, completely dumbfounded.

...Nothing? 

How can he even think that?  
  
“No. No, don't call out - I can't be a bigger disruption to your life than I already am and as long as your father is skulking around Sunnydale, your Slayer - er, Buffy, is going to need you. Just in case.   
  
And then, because he still can't wrap his mind around what Rupert's said -   
  
“You...You're not _nothing_ . You've never been nothing and you've already done more for me than I could ever hope to repay you for with several lifetimes. But…”   
  
And this is the part that hurts. Like he's been stabbed in the chest. A sharp, icy feeling.   
  
“You moved on. You have a life. A career. And I can't ask you to make room for me. I'm a piece of an old world that doesn't exist anymore. And you don't owe me anything.”   
  
Randall swallows, hard, shifting gears.   
  
“...Thanks for uh, the keys and the all of this. I'll try to lure your father someplace that isn't here.”

Giles has to swallow a strange lump in the back of his throat before he can reply.  
  
“Randall -”   
  
His voice cracks. He clears his throat and tries again.   
  
“Randall, you're right. You can't ask me to make room for you...mostly, because…”   
  
Giles pulls off his glasses and polishes them with the tea towel.   
  
“...there's always been room for you. Yes, I've moved on with my life, and have a career...such as it is…”   
  
He smiles wryly and replaces his glasses.   
  
“But there's always been a place for you. I just never dared to dream…”   
  
Giles phone rings. He blinks slowly and reaches for the receiver.   
  
“Hello? ...Hello? Anybody there?” He frowns and hangs up. “Either a legitimate wrong number...or my father is waiting for me to leave. I have spare pencils in this drawer, should you feel like stabbing him. I can't recommend that enough. We'll talk more, later. Please - be careful?”   
  
Giles smiles tightly, and leaves for work.


End file.
